


I Wish

by elsalovelove



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Feels, M/M, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson Being Idiots, john watson death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 17:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13104720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsalovelove/pseuds/elsalovelove
Summary: “John!”Sherlock ran forward as John slid down against the wall, blood trickling out of his stomach wound where the bullet had hit.No, no, no, no, no. Not John.





	I Wish

“John!”

 Sherlock ran forward as John slid down against the wall, blood trickling out of his stomach wound where the bullet had hit.

_No, no, no, no, no. Not John._

  John weakly blinked up at him, his eyes sliding in and out of focus. Dropping down, he crouched between John’s outstretched legs and grabbed his neck.

  “John, stay with me!” He could feel the beginning of panic rising in his chest. He’d tried so hard to distance himself from emotions, to only focus on the cases, the distractions. He’d learned the lesson the hard way in his childhood. He’d needed a break from the constant ache in his chest. In his later teenage years, drugs helped him cope, but as he grew older, even the drugs started becoming dull and boring. So, without having to overdose – he’d already risked it so many times before – he chose to solve little puzzles to occupy his mind with occasional drug use.

  Yet when John Watson stumbled into his life, he let it happen.

  “Sherlock,” croaked John, and he realized that he had been hyperventilating with his eyes flickering around. He forced himself to meet John’s eyes, trying to steady his trembling breath and body.

  “Listen to me,” groaned John. A trickle of blood slid down his open lips. John was frowning in an effort to concentrate on his face. “Listen to me, it’s very important. I’m a – I’m a doctor, okay? I know what to do–”

  Suddenly, he violently shuddered. Clutching at his wound left hand to try to stop the bleeding, John closed his eyes. Sherlock didn’t know what to do, and he started panicking again.

_No, no, no, no, no, no–_

  “Call the ambulance,” panted John, breaking his ongoing train of  _No_ s. Sherlock glanced at the phone lying on the ground next to them, its screen badly chipped. Swallowing, he picked it up with his trembling hands.

  “Yes, yes of course,” he breathed out. He had to try several times to dial 999, his hands trembled so much. He felt like his brain, for once, was a white sheet of paper; he couldn’t remember anything.

  “Hello?”

  “Yes, yes – Um, 999?” He couldn’t even form simple sentences.

  “Yes, sir, this is 999. Is there any problem?”

  “Problem, problem, yes!” he glanced at John, who had his eyes closed, grimacing. “My – my friend – he’s shot, yes, shot.” Why did his voice tremble so much?

  “Okay, sir, where is he shot exactly? And could you tell me your name and your location?”

  “Stomach! About… just below – right rib cage. Yes. I – ah – Sherlock Holmes. Baker Street, near the Speedy’s cafe.”

  “Okay, sir, we’ll be there as soon as we can. We’re sending the ambulance right now, just make sure that your friend is breathing and conscious. Keep the wound pressured to prevent further blood loss.”

  “I – uh – right.” Cutting the line, he grabbed at his own matted curly lock of hair, pacing around John. Then, suddenly remembering the assistant’s instructions, he dropped down in front of John and grabbed at his face. 

  “John. John!”

  John’s eyes fluttered open, but the pupils were dilated with pain and fear, and his eyes rolled around as if he couldn’t see anything for a few seconds. Sherlock felt the panic rise up his throat once again.

  “Oh God, oh God,” he panted. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed his body to stop the trembling  _for God’s sake._  It didn’t work. His eyes flying open, he frantically reached for the wound – Oh God, the cloth around it were heavily soaked now with the blood – muttering, “Pressure the wound, pressure the wound.”

  “It’s okay, Sherlock,” grunted John. He seemed to have gained a bit more consciousness. “Just put your hand here… yeah. Just firmly hold it–” 

  He had to stop for a few seconds and spit out a curdle of blood.

  “Oh my God, you’re dying, you’re dying,” gasped Sherlock. He was actually having a panic attack now. His breath was far too frequent and shallow, and he felt like he was drowning. “You’re actually dying, I –” His voice breaking, he opened his eyes and forced himself to actually  _look_  at John. This might be his last time looking into those eyes.

  John’s hair was thoroughly ruffled and his eyes were bloodshot and wide, but he had never seemed more beautiful. His warm brown eyes looked up at his pale ones, and he could feel his heart, pumping frantically inside his chest, squeeze in pain.  _Oh._  So this was the ‘heartbreak’ that everyone talked about. He knew what the throbbing of his heart felt like – far too intimately – but he’d never experience hearbreak before. At least, not on this level. He’d always wondered what all the fuss was about.

  He never should have let this man wander into his cold, lonely life.

  John’s bloody but warm lips wiggled up into an attempted smile through his pain. 

   _Oh._

  An immense pain erupted in his chest, much more painful than any other injury he’s ever suffered. It was like his whole heart was burning and being squeezed at the same time, only ten times worse. He lost all thoughts and words and blankly stared at John.

  Each action played like a slow motion movie scene inside his head.

  “Sherlock?” John finally croaked. 

  “I –” His world was crashing around him, and he didn’t know what to do. He was a mere ant in the giant universe. He buried his head against John’s chest and held onto his neck, whispering in a broken voice, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m –”

  “Sherlock,” soothed John. “It’s okay.”

_It hurts so much._

_I’m scared. I’m so, so scared._

  Trembling, he raised his head and met John’s eyes. John held his chin with his free hand – he was holding his wound with the other – and slowly said, his voice trembling slightly from the pain, “Look at me. It’s all going to be okay.”

  Only giving hitched pants in response, he dropped his head again and leaned against John’s chest. John’s right hand held his head, stroking through his hair. “It’s okay. I’m –”

  He closed his eyes and felt the rumble of John’s chest as he spoke. It only made the pain in his heart worse. 

  Opening his eyes, he forced himself to look at the wound John was pressuring. It looked bad. Actually bad. It could be fatal. According to his knowledge in anatomy –

   _Stop_ , he growled at himself.  _Focus._

“John?” He looked up. John’s eyelids were fluttering, and his parched, bloody lips were parted as if asking for water. “John!”

  Holding John’s chin with both his hands, he stroked the face with his gloved thumbs. John’s eyes fluttered open for a second, struggling to focus on his face.

  “No, John, please,” he breathed.  _I love you,_ he wanted to tell him. So, so badly. But he didn’t want to ruin the last moment together with his pathetic, hopeless love confession. He was a nobody, he was a freak. He was unlovable. 

  His heart dropped when John’s eyes slid completely out of focus and shut close. “John!”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” he moaned. After blinking hard a few times, he whispered, “I love you,” barely audible.

  He carefully lifted John’s torso a little and listened for his heartbeat.

  None.

  Everything went mute for a while. Tears didn’t come. The traffic noise at the background, people screaming and laughing and cursing, they all went silent. The silence was too deafening to bear.

  Then, all of a sudden, the world came crashing around him as if he had abruptly landed. Gasping for air, he desperately scrabbled at John’s still form to find signs of life. He was hyperventilating. He knew it. He was having a full-on panic attack. Even though he’d never had one before, he knew the symptoms.

  He grabbed John’s limp figure and crushed the still body into his. His breath was hitching, even though no tears came out. He could feel John’s blood seeping through his shirt and soaking it.

  It was too much. Making a high-pitched sound, he clutched at his heart, wanting to tear it out. That would be less painful than this.

  Suddenly, there were people around him, talking and gasping. Men in bright yellow suits crowded around him and took John away, laying him on a stretcher. They tried putting a blanket on him, but he tried to stand up, only to be held back by the people. 

 _Just let me touch him one more time,_  he dimly thought as he slid into unconsciousness. _Let me get to him._

* * *

  “John?” Sherlock’s voice was distant now. He felt like he was floating underwater. Everything became duller. His senses, the pain. That’s better.

  “John!” Sherlock’s alarmed voice brought him back, and he struggled to open his eyes. He was so comfortable and sleepy, he didn’t want to. But he had to see Sherlock.

  First, he could only see a cloudy figure of him. After a few more blinks, he could see Sherlock’s face a bit better. He always was so beautiful. Why did he have to be so tall and elegant and perfect in every way? It made him unreachable, like a prince. 

  He knew that Sherlock wouldn’t be able to return his feelings for him. Not ever. Sherlock just didn’t feel things that way.

  Fuck. His heart ached now. His eyelids were becoming heavier, luring him into a perhaps eternal sleep. He knew he was dying. Every cell in his body screamed at him to keep conscious. He wanted to see Sherlock’s face for just one more time.

  Finally, he gave in. As his vision went black, he could dimly hear Sherlock’s voice moaning “No, no, no, no, no.”

  After that, he heard something else. It started with an “I.” He wished he could hear it. He wished he could have seen Sherlock’s face one more time. He wished that he’d been confident enough to just tell Sherlock how he felt, if only to be rejected.

  His thoughts quieted down, and he slid into eternal sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if you hate me :p Was this really cheesy? Please let me know if you liked it or not :3  
> (Also, I just created an AO3 account so I'm just uploading my old fics! I'll be uploading some new ones soon)


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